


Miss Me

by CavannaRose



Series: Rose Wilson Fics [17]
Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Emotions, F/M, Loss, Relationship that wasn't, musings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 12:57:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11082066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: Inspired by Sam Hunt's "Make You Miss Me" this is mostly Rose thinking about the relationship with Eddie that she forfeited when they walked away, and he died.





	Miss Me

The first strains of a familiar song came over the mall speakers, and Rose’s lip curled despite herself. Admittedly she’d enjoyed the tune when it first came out, danced to it, worked out to it… but now she was sick of listening to the bloody thing. It wasn’t bad memories, not at all. That would attribute more emotional health to the youngest, and only surviving, Wilson child than she was generally considered to hold. She headed over to examine a display, eye darting about, unconsciously cataloguing and sizing up the exits and the crowds.

Still he watched her. Always from a distance, afraid to step back into her life. He’d seen the damage his loss had done, seen how quickly she’d fallen back into old routines in his absence. To be perfectly honest, he hurt for her, even as the disappointment settled into the pit of his stomach. As he watched she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his own hand clenching with the wish to echo her movement, noting how careful she was to keep the scarred remains of her missing eye covered. She’d gotten better at hiding it, if he hadn’t known what to look for, he might not even have noticed that she was blind on one side.

She fingered the leather on a pair of boots, testing the strength of the heel, snorting as it snapped under the slightest pressure of her hand before tossing it aside, ignoring the protest of the young man working the shop floor. He reached out to catch hold of her arm, to stop her from leaving. Whirling around before he made contact, Rose drew herself up to her full 5’3, not exactly an impressive height, but she had the kind of glare that exuded threat, made her seem bigger. Stuttering the boy backed up, and she gave him a nasty little smile before heading up the main concourse.

Watching he shook his head, dropping down to the main floor to get lost in the crowds. He stopped at the shop where the distressed young man was being led off the floor to deal with his shock in private. At least she hadn’t hurt the kid… Still, her silent observer couldn’t help but pick up the broken heel and tucking it into the pocket of his hooded black sweatshirt, running a thumb over it again and again as he lowered his face to get lost in the flow of human traffic once more.

Finally, she caught sight of her target. From casual, if somewhat unpleasant, mall-goer she became something else. The deadly killer settled over her like changing a shirt. The people around her seemed to notice the change, pulling away from her slightly. That was good, allowed her to ease the small, palm-sized dagger out of her sleeve and into her hand without it being seen. At the end of the concourse her target turned left, down the maintenance corridor. Tension in every part of her body had her coiled and ready like a cat, the weight of eyes on her being discarded as unimportant as she came nearer to where she lost sight of the person she was here to kill.

He hesitated, tempted to melt into the folks heading towards the food court. Something about the line of her spine let him know she knew he was there… maybe not him, in fact, he could guarantee it wasn’t him she thought was there… but she knew she was being watched. She was too good of a hunter not to know when she was being followed that closely. He held himself back, let some more distance grow between them, even though it meant he risked losing her entirely. If it fell to that, he knew where she lived. He could always find her there.

She caught up to her target fast, just through the exit near the dumpsters. He was waiting, the grin on his face suggesting he wanted her to follow. She was so tired of these idiots. They were all so cocky, every one of them thinking they could take out the one-eyed daughter of Deathstroke. She let them think it. Overconfidence made them sloppy, made her job that much easier.

“Come, Wilson girl, we shall dance and I shall leave your corpse as a message at the door of your father.” Rose’s opponent crouched, arms positioned in preparation for some fancy hand-to-hand style that she thought she recognized from her time with Grayson. Rose allowed a harsh laugh, laced with years of built up bitterness, to escape her lips.

“You are not the first to try, you won’t be the last. One of these days you fuckers will learn that he doesn’t give two fucks about me.” Then she was in motion, so fast the edges of her limbs blurred as she threw herself into the fight. The surprised recipient of her attack had to back up, losing his dramatic posture as he fended off the flashing glimpses of her dagger. High and then low, left and then right, it was like the dagger was everywhere at once, and he was sweating trying to keep up with it, to keep blocking her strikes, to make a few desperate jabs of his own. How did so many of these idiots know who she was, but not what she was? How did they not know she carried the same serum in her veins as the man they wished to taunt?

The ability that most people didn’t know about went off, a glimpse of the next few seconds of battle as her adrenaline spiked. Suddenly she wasn’t just moving fast, she was practically liquid. Flowing away from every blow he aimed, not even one hitting their mark, and she was through his defences, flush against his body with her dagger in between the fifth and sixth ribs, nicking the lung behind them. She pressed her cheek against his, lips so close to his ear he could feel the heat of her breath.

“You go home and tell the rest of the black pajama sleepover club you work for that the Wilson family doesn’t work together, but if they force me to, I will go find dear old daddy and help him eradicate every last one of you. Got it?” Not impressed by his stoic silence, she twisted the blade until he whimpered, then nodded his head. Rose stepped away, blade disappearing into her sleeve after being cleaned on her pants. “Good. Now you should probably go see a doctor before that lung collapses.”

Watching from a rooftop across the street, the silent observer permits a gentle smile to cross his lips. He had been worried that she’d keep falling… but she hadn’t slaughtered her target. That meant part of his Rose was still in there. She was still salvageable. That was what had always drawn him to the Wilson girl. Everyone said she was a monster, but at her heart, she was a good person. Sweet. Caring. The façade she wore was built up over the years to protect herself from her environment, but she’d let him in once. The real question is, would she risk letting him in again?

As she sauntered away from her target, hips swaying in sultry mockery, he took one last shot, a throwing knife went end over end in a perfect arc towards Rose. She didn’t even turn, simply reached back and plucked it out of the air, tucking it into the back pocket of her jeans in the same fluid motion. The observer on the roof held his breath, but the Wilson girl didn’t even grace the assassin with a response, simply continued on her way out of there.

Rose paused just outside the mall, head tilted in curiousity. She sniffed the air, she could almost catch a familiar whiff of sulfur on the air. She shook her head. How maudlin. It wasn’t him, it was probably just a diesel truck backfiring, they had a remarkably similar scent. But it was enough to send that twinge of memory through her, that wistful longing for what might-have-been. It was enough, she detoured from her usual route back to her current flop, deeper into the city towards a safehouse she hadn’t used in ages. Mostly it was storage now. A place of memories she had put away, but not forgotten.

Curious, her observer followed. This was new, and new behaviour might indicate she was aware of his presence. Deep down he knew he should stop being a coward, he should go to her, apologize for his absence, allow them to maybe find that thread of connection that had shattered when he had gone where she couldn’t follow… It had snapped before that though. He wasn’t being honest. She had left first, asked him to go with her, but he thought if he said no she would stay… He never thought she’d leave without him.

Rose input the code and stepped into the musty saferoom. A thick layer of dust covered everything. In all the years since his death, she’d only been back her once, just after his death, to put away everything that reminded her of him. It had been too painful back then, but today… Today she missed him in a way that was more sweet than bitter. Perhaps it was finally time. Maybe now she could face her loss. Everything she had walked away from, everything that had been ripped from inside her when she had learned the truth.

Crossing the room, she opened the window to let some fresh air in. The breeze raised up an eddy of dust as it knocked a handful of polaroids to the floor. Bending to pick them up, she smiled. It was a soft expression, looking almost alien on the rigid planes of her face. She hadn’t worn a look like that for a very long time. Flipping through the pictures Rose sat down on the couch, raising up another cloud of dust, but not really caring. To be honest it was still cleaner than where she was staying now. The photos were faded with age and exposure, but the memories were fresh as the day they were taken.

_She was in the gym with Connor, sweat making their clothes cling to their bodies as they lifted heavier and heavier weights, each trying to outdo the other. “Give up Wilson, we both know I’m gonna win this. I’m Kryptonian.” “You’re HALF-Kryptonian, Superbaby. I’m going to crush you.” He’d won… but just barely. Her laugh had echoed through the Tower, but what had echoed in her was the grudging admiration he’d expressed, one hand on her shoulder. “You almost had me, Rose.”_

_Her phone went off with some ridiculous text tone, a song she didn’t even know. It was from Jaime, some joking observation about cyborgs vs androids that made her laugh so hard she’d almost cried. Like magic, Bart was beside her, snapping a picture. “The infamous Rose Wilson, peeing her pants over some joke? This is going in the scrapbook for posterity!” She’d swiped at him with a mostly fake growl. “I want that picture, Lightfoot…” “You’ll have to catch me first!” She’d chased him all over the Tower. To prolong the game, he’d always stayed just within arms reach._

She paused at the last picture. Could she face him, even this way? Was she really ready to look into those strange white eyes one more time? Could she handle it? Rose was many things, but a coward was not one of them… except in this. He’d always been her weak spot. Her best friend. They’d never slept together, never even kissed though she had teased him by getting dangerously close… but even then, Rose had been casual about sex. Her feelings for Eddie had never been casual, she hadn’t wanted to cheapen them.

_They were sitting on the roof after a battle, she’d tugged a pack of cigarettes out of somewhere, leaning forward to light the tip on the heat of his breath. He closed his eyes, and so did she. It was the closest to physical they ever got, and the odd ritual was… comforting after a hard day. “I don’t belong here, Eddie. I’m not a hero. The rest of them… They’ll never trust me. Hell, you LOOK like a demon and they trust you more, Raven’s FATHER is a demon, and she’s welcomed in. But me? I’m the daughter of Deathstroke. If one individual has caused the Titans more pain, I don’t know who it might be. They’re never going to get past that.” His hand locked with hers, squeezing gently. She enjoyed the strange heat of him, the dark red of his skin against the paleness of hers, inherited more from her Cambodian mother than her one-eyed father. “They just need time, Rose. Please, just give them a little longer.” She’d given in that night, but it hadn’t done much good. The problem hadn’t been the Titans, it had been her._

Dashing a tear from her eye she put the pictures back where they had come from, shaking the old memories from her head. Perhaps it was too soon still. Over on the peg were some of her old clothes. The white belly top with the smiley face, that awful pink sports bra… Eddie’s black vest he had found so cool, the faded black hoodie he had worn when he needed to hide his striking colouring and the horns that sprouted from beneath his hair. She picked up the hoodie, fingers toying with the holes burnt along the edges. He’d always been an emotions kinda guy, and when they heated up… so did he. Literally. She’d thought it was adorable.

Rose tugged the sweater on over her head, flipping up the hood and inhaling deeply. It smelled like him. A hint of Axe body spray, sulphur and a strange male heat that she’d always found appealing. Wrapping her arms around herself she closed her eye, imagining it was his arms, one last time. She moved across the room as if in a daydream, wrapped in his sweater, in the smell of him, in the memories of a friendship past. Laying down on the dusty couch, she closed her eye, and allowed herself a moment to weep for everything that they’d lost.

He could hear her, and it broke his heart. He couldn’t stand to be the source of so much pain. Rose was strong, the strongest of them all. No one else could survive what she had and still have her capacity to feel. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach through the window and brush the hair off her forehead, to tease a smile back on her face like he had so many times when they were younger, more innocent… at least he was. He was so tempted, to reach out to her, to tell her he was here… but afraid too. What if she rejected him? She’d always been good at building walls to protect herself from harm, what if he found himself on the other side of that wall this time? The need within him though, that was hard to resist. He reached for his phone…

Her phone rang, shocking her out of her self-indulgent misery. With his scent all around she half expected it to be him… a wake up call and a reminder to eat breakfast like he’d used to… But he was gone. “Ravager.” She answered crisply, no nonsense, no hint of the emotion that was still damp on her face. She made a few non-committal sounds, and then hung up, grimacing. She’d been given her next target, and she hated that it had brought the ugliness of her world into this place of memories. She headed for the exit, paused, and tucked the photos into the pocket of the sweater. A few keepsakes, that was really all she needed. The safehouse was ruined for her, but she didn’t want to forget.  She kicked a canister by the door, toppling it over and spilling the foul odour of gasoline across the floor. Tucking a cigarette in her mouth, she lit it with a match, discarding the burning stick behind her. The heat of the flame at her back was intense, but she didn’t look back. Her past was gone, and she was just going to have to live with that knowledge. No use being too attached to it, no use mourning what would never be. Best to make a clean break… or at least as clean a break as she could manage right now. Everyone else had been so easy to leave… everyone but the boy who had died.

The fire had shocked him, he hadn’t expected that. Still, he’d caught sight of something he wanted, so he teleported into the flaming safehouse, snagging the vest of the hook before teleporting out again. It was a little charred at the edges, but to be fair that could have been from him as much as the fire Rose had started. He tugged the vest on over his white tank top, feeling a bit more like him. Even better, it smelled slightly of her beneath the smoke and sulphur. He smiled. This was something he could take with him, but he still had things to do before he could go to Rose. He just hoped she’d understand.

When Rose was preparing for a hit, she’d taken to writing letters to Eddie in her head just after he died. It helped her work through things, get everything sorted. It made it feel like he was still there. She hadn’t done it in ages, but for some reason tonight, it seemed natural to pick the habit back up. She was dressing up for this one, undercover work was never her strong suit. Painting her nails with a decided lack of skill, she laughed. They were the same colour as her dead friend’s skin had been.

_Dear Eddie,  
You’d never believe what I’m letting them talk me into. Some fancy dress party with cocktails and high society. I haven’t been to one of these since I was training with Grayson. I wish you were here to tease me about tripping on high heels. I feel ridiculous. Who ever heard of a one-eyed girl in a curve-hugging gown anyway? I’m going to be spotted immediately, and then it’s going to be a bloodbath. I wish you were going with me, to bail me out when things get too hairy. You always managed to keep me from being the mass murdering psychopath my father wanted me to be. I felt like you were watching over me earlier today. Fuck, I miss you so much, you big red idiot. Why did you have to die?_

She squeezed her hand shut, imagining him slipping his big, hot fingers between hers. There had always been comfort in the pain of his heat. A familiarity. She was the only one who’d been willing to risk getting burned, just to make him feel like a real person. Just like he’d been when he died. No powers. No horns. No crazy demon eyes. Just a boy, back in his own body, throwing away his life to save the world. All because she hadn’t been there to watch his back. She’d do anything to take that back. To stay when he wouldn’t join her.

That stupid song that always reminded her of Eddie came on the radio, and she lashed out, smashing it with a fist, forcing her to pick electronic bits out of the fancy lace in her gloves. She was Rose Wilson-Worth, and she was not going to let the past mess up her duty. She neatly compartmentalized all her emotions, and then headed out into the night.

Someone needed killing.


End file.
